


Mendings and Healings.

by FredGodOf



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Tailoring charms gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-18 11:27:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16994136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FredGodOf/pseuds/FredGodOf
Summary: Graves is perhaps a little bit detached from his body these days, the natural result of three months locked in stasis, but even he should have known better.A very short bit of h/c





	Mendings and Healings.

It only seems like a minor irritation when the smuggler strikes him across the chest with the sword, it’s not a well aimed blow, but it’s a sharp enough sword and it slices thru both all his layers of clothes and bites into his skin. Graves stuns the smuggler who goes down like a load of bricks, the rest of his gang are quickly rounded up and Scaramander is cooing over whatever they have cages of before the dust settles. Graves peers into the first box and sees a small pink armoured creature with a white fluffy underside, it looks like a rabbit mated with a pill bug.

“What on earth is that?”

“Its some form of armadillo, not magically in the least, surprisingly enough, I can probably get the zoo to take it, they’re from South America.” Scaramander babbles on. He looks up with a grin but then frowns, “Your robes torn up, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Graves insists. He steps away from the cages for a moment to wave his wand at his robes. Reparo, reparo reparo, his mends the his outer robe, vest, shirt and undershirt and finally knits up the torn skin underneath.

“Who carries around a sword anyways?” Tina asks as she approaches the cages. “Anything interesting?”

Graves yells at Newt for a while about what animals are and are not dangerous until Tina distracts him with the criminals who they’ve actually arrested and he heads back to the office to interrogate them. The wound in his chest is pulling oddly and he thinks that he’ll have to remember to take a look at it later but he doesn’t think of it again in the whirl of drawing charges and another round of shouting about what’s to be done with the captured animals.

It’s almost eight hours later than he gets back to his office and drops into his chair to examine his overflowing inbox.

Geoffrey the Puffskin is curled up sleeping in the inbox but is swift to run up Graves’s sleeve to nestle under his vest. The creature was a present from Newt and Tina. They had tried to be subtle about why they insisted that he take it but Queenie had just said it straight out when he tried to return it sneakily thru her. 

“He’s very active and will cry if you don’t feed him enough, which will be a good distraction the next time you forget you have a body and get lost in one of your trances. Tina’s scared you’re going to forget to eat or breathe or something.”

Graves had bristled, but didn’t try to return Geoffrey again. The puffskien traveled almost everywhere with him, except on field missions. Graves frowns to think of Geoffrey nestled in his breast pocket when the smuggler stabbed him.

The truly ridiculous thing is that Graves doesn’t realize what he’s done until it suddenly feels like Geoffroy has pushed his head into Graves’s chest like it's a here to undiscovered pocket. When Graves unbuttons his robe, and vest and shirt he finds that his under shirt has adhered itself to the wound. He pulls on it, assuming that it’s stuck by dried blood but yanking on it instead pulls on something deep inside his chest that hurts like hell and then suddenly breathing becomes somewhat of an issue.

There’s a knock at his door Graves tries to stand up but finds that he can only make a half step before he falls heavily to the floor. Geoffrey tries standing on his face and crying like that will somehow get Graves to get up. Graves briefly regrets that his relevant biographical details are going to be was impersonated by a mass murderer for a year and died on his office floor after fucking up a tailoring charm.

THen Scaramander is scrambling around the floor in front of him and manages to get him propped up against his desk and tucks Geoffrey into his own vest so he’s out of the way.

“What’s wrong?” Scaramander asks and starts to recite a tirage spell.

Graves coughs and wishes that he hadn’t something is loose and ragged in his chest and moving just makes it hurt worse.

“Definitely in your lungs.” Scaramander announces and waves his wand “pulminarium.’

The pain in Graves’s chest doesn’t decrease but he’s no longer gasping for breath.

Scaramander pokes at the bloodied front of Graves shirt with his wand. “Was this from the sword earlier? You said you were fine.”

Graves scowls, “It was a scratch.”

“How did a scratch do this?” Scaramander asks.

Graves sticks to scowling while Scaramander pokes at him with his wand and then before he can stop him Scaramander pulls at Graves’s bloodied undershirt.

There’s another horrible ripping feeling and he throws Scaramander away from him instinctively. Graves catches himself before he can throw him thru the wall, he only skids away a couple of yards.

Graves clutches at his chest. Scaramander’s charm is holding, he’s still breathing, but he begins to cough again and soon tastes blood on his tongue.

Scaramander dusts himself off and scurries back over to Graves and the desk.  
“Right, so I promise not pull on your shirt again, lets see what the problem is.” 

Graves pulls Scaramander’s handkerchief out of his pocket, since his own is tucked into his shirt, that is more than arm’s length away. Scaramander squawks a bt until he sees the red tinged spittle that Graves is coughing up.

“That’s a terrible sign.” Scaramander announces and returns to examining Graves, After a few long moments he rocks back on his feet and looks Graves’s in the eye. “Did you try and use a tailoring charm on yourself? Because it looks like you’ve tried to repair your skin with your undershirt, only it's gone sort of haywire and is trying to repair your entire chest, it looks like part of one of your lungs has turned to cloth, I think you only need one functioning lung to live, but I’m assuming you want both?”

“Preferably,”

“This is going to hurt a lot.” Scaramander warns

“Already does.” Graves admits

Scaramander frowns again but pushes his wand against the cloth leading into Graves’s chest and pulls slightly. 

Graves groans as it again pulls something inside.

“Maybe I should do this in pieces, I’m going to get rid of the rest of your shirt first.”

Graves nods and Scaramander cuts a neat circle of cloth around the wound off and tries to slide the rest of the shirt off over Graves’s head. Graves attempts to help but his body isn’t working right, his movements slow and clumsy and he finally holds still and let Scaramander do it.

“I think I’m going to have to sort of unweave it and pull it out in pieces.” Scaramander says. “It might take a bit, but I think it’s better than the alternative?”

“Which would be pulling out a huge chunk of my lung in one go?”

“Yes, um, that would the alternative, no idea if the cloth section is functioning or not, did you notice your breathing get worse?”

“I didn’t notice.” 

“Right, okay,” Scaramander puts his wand against the wound again and pulls and a long knot of reddish grey thread comes sliding out of his chest. Graves could feel it catching and then giving way as Scaramander pulls and shudders. It hurts. but it also felt decidedly like something that shouldn’t happen.”

Scaramander drops it on the floor behind him and grimaces. “Sorry.”

Graves pants a bit, “Just keep going.”

Scaramander nods and got back to it.

Graves thinks that if there was a good time for him to entirely forget he had a body, this was it, but the obscene pull and tug of the threads kept jolting him back to being very much inside his skin.

“Should I find someone else to do this? A healer maybe?” Scaramander asks as he pulls out a particularly large snarl of threads and Graves grunts in pain.

“You mean, do I want to go downstairs and explain to someone else how I’ve attached my shirt to my lung and get sent home on leave for another month?” Graves asks. He considers for a moment, perhaps that isn’t the best explanation to get Scaramander to continue performing minor surgery on him “And someone else will be in charge of this case and you’ll have to start from scratch on getting any of those animals released.”

Scaramander frowns, “You don’t have to threaten me, I’m willing to help.”

“I think that’s more of a bribe?” Graves tries to joke but something catches and he starts to cough again, he tries to curl around the pain but it doesn’t lessen in any way

Scaramander puts a hand on his shoulder and Graves’s grasps it and braces against him to push himself back up against the desk. Graves pants. “Keep going.”

Newt pulls out another knot and discards it, there’s starting to be quite a pile on the carpet. Graves feels something odd inside, Scaramander doesn’t have his wand up, it something else.

“Neither one of actually stopped the spell did we?” Graves asks.

Scaramander’s eyes go wide as Graves feels a new kind of pain in his chest. Scaramander is waving his wand frantically, but Graves sees everything go grey tinged and then black.

When he regains consciousness Scaramander is looking down on him and he thinks he might be flat on his back on the floor of his office.

Geoffrey is nestled against his neck, a spot of soft warmth

 

 

“I think I got it all out.” Scaramander gives him an encouraging look. “And I’ve done a few healing charms that seemed to have restored most of your lung, you were right, neither of us stopped the spell and it was starting to get into your heart.”

Graves nods and tries sitting up. Geoffrey wakes up and tucks himself into a trouser pocket Scaramander helps him until his propped back up against his desk again. Graves registers that Scaramander had completely cut away all his clothes above the waist. There’s a pile of bloody thread and cloth on the floor and Graves pokes at with his wand until it reassembles itself into a monochrome cloth model of a lung and part of a heart, made of white cotton and black suiting. He pokes it again to remove the blood stains and stares at it with dull fascination.

Scaramander coughs, “It’s an impressively accurate recreation, and I suspect it was actually performing some of the functions of an actual lung, or you would have noticed it happening before?”

Graves waves his wand again and the heart and lungs start to move, inflating and deflating. “I’m afraid that I truly may not have noticed. I was sitting at my desk doing paperwork so I wasn’t under any strain.”

Scaramander’s face twists in what Graves thinks is some kind of distress, so he waves again and reduces it to thread and cloth again.

“I” Graves pauses, “Thank you, I don’t think turning into an anatomical model is how I’d like to go.” He looks at the clock over Scaramander’s shoulder. “Merlin! Have you been sitting here with me for four hours? It’s nearly three in the morning.”

“Well, to start of there was a lot of very frantic spell work, the sitting’s only been for the last two hours or so, and I did duck out to feed on my creatures.” 

“That’s good to know. Did you feed yourself at all?” 

“Ah.” Scaramander says, “I’m fairly certain I had something before we left to apprehend the smugglers.”

“You had a pastry and a cup of coffee at the briefing before hand because Queenie made sure you did.”

Scaramander looks panicked suddenly, “I think I was supposed to meet Queenie and Tina for dinner.”  
“They would have come to find you if you were, they know better than to leave you wandering my city unsupervised.” Graves pulls himself to his feet slowly using the desk while Scaramander holds his hands out to catch him. He makes it to an upright position but doesn’t let go of the desk.

Graves surveys his lack of clothes from the waist up and dismisses the idea of trying to repair the suit, he’ll be leaving the tailoring charms for others for a few days, instead he waves at a drawer and a rather tattered sweater come floating out, he props his hip against the desk and pulls it on. 

Scaramander frowns at it somewhat comically. Graves really shouldn’t find his sleep deprived confusion as hilarious as he does, but he thinks he can be excused on the grounds of still being slightly oxygen deprived.

“It’s a disguise.” Graves explains in a stage whisper and Scaramander snorts with laughter. 

“You keep disguises in your office?”

“Never know when you’re going to have to go sneak into a disreputable bar.” Graves summons his coat and pulls it on. “Will you take it poorly if I ask you to accompany me home? I suspect you don’t want to wake the Goldsteins and I do have a luggage rack, among other accommodations.”

Scaramander blushes bright red, but does pick up his case and tucks his hand into the crook of Graves’s arm and they head out into the night.


End file.
